


More Than One Thousand Words

by ctrling



Series: Phan One-Shots [8]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Reality, writer!Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctrling/pseuds/ctrling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but a story is worth so much more.”</p><p>Dan’s a writer, always staying up late writing stories that won’t ever be read by anybody but him and Phil, so when he can’t think of anything to get Phil from Christmas, he decides to write him a story about their life together so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than One Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> Ah the title sucks and i know it's after Christmas but I wasn't able to post this before because I did it for a secret santa thing.

More Than One Thousand Words (Just for You)

Dan gets the urge to write at three a.m., when it’s so dark out it’s bright and the glow of the artificial light that burns overhead is almost enough to convince him that he’s right where he’s supposed to be. He writes lightning speed on and off, with pauses that mimic a tiny writer’s block.

                Phil’s in his room, asleep in his bed, because Dan had just known—the way a midnight writer somehow does—that this was going to be another writing night, so he had insisted that Phil sleep in his own bed even though they usually share Dan’s.

                Because late nights always mean early mornings, Dan knows better than to bother with sleep tonight. Right next to him is a cup of coffee that he sips periodically. The radio is on, quiet but loud enough to be a scream in his tired mind, piercing enough to keep him awake even when he’s only seconds from sleep. He has an energy drink waiting for him in the fridge if his current efforts to ward off sleep are not enough, but once he becomes totally enraptured in the writing, the soft clicks of the keyboard, it doesn’t even matter anymore.

                And he’s especially caught up in this particular writing. He may not be a published author yet—in the sense that, sure he’s published a book, but most of that was dialogue, save for one story that only hints at his true abilities—but he knows his way around words and stories, can twist them into beautiful images. Now he’s writing a story—one that will end up as a Christmas gift, which is the first time he’s ever done that—for Phi, one that he hopes can capture his feelings in a way spoken words never can.

                It starts off as a tale about how they met, but Dan wants something more introspective. So the only copy is deleted and a new document is opened. The time he writes a story in snapshots of their life together in second person because he’s always believed that It’s more intimate than first person and third person.

                He gets halfway through before the light overhead is no longer needed and he saves his progress, closes his laptop and calls it a day (or a night or a morning).

                Phil’s not awake when he tip toes into his room, and even though it’s been forever since he’s slept in there, he crawls under the blankets, wraps his arms around Phil and presses his cold feet against Phil’s legs.

                He doesn’t fall asleep and his mind never stops running around in circles and he stays in bed until Phil wakes up.

                He hadn’t planned on writing a story for Phil originally. In fact, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He writes for Phil all of the time, ranging from stories less than a thousand words to stories more than ten thousand words in length, so it didn’t make any sense for him to give Phil a gift he could get whenever. But he had been walking around in a shop, trying to come up with ideas for a Christmas gift for Phil, when he came across a book called _Letters to my Husband_. He didn’t pick up the book, didn’t need to read the back cover to know that the contents would be far too cheesy, but it had sparked an idea, one that had formed over a few days. The gift doesn’t cost him anything but time, but it’s always been gifts from the heart that Phil’s loved the most, so he knows—in the way that someone in his position just does—that Phil will be able to appreciate his cheap gift.

                “Do we still have to finish decorating the Christmas tree?” is the first thing Phil asks when he wakes up, pulling Dan’s arms around him tighter. But then he seems to realize that they’re in his room, a tell-tale sign that Dan’s gotten little to no sleep. Turning over so he’s facing Dan, he says, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

                “No,” Dan admits, a silly smile on his face that doesn’t hide the fact that he likes his life just the way it is, even if it is a bit _tiring_ at times.

                “What even is it that you’re writing this time? I thought you finished that big story you were working on.”

                “I did, but now I’m working on something else, something shorter.”

                “Mhm,” Phil mumbles into Dan’s neck. If this were anybody else, Dan would be freaking out right now, but after many mornings spent just like this, it only serves to relax Dan, and the feeling of Phil’s breath washing over his neck spreads warmth throughout his body. “You should take a break.”

                “Mhm, can’t,” Dan says lazily, rubbing Phil’s back. “I have a deadline.”

                “Since when do you have a deadline?”

                Dan doesn’t respond, keeps his mouth shut and feigns sleep until Phil stops talking and pulls him closer.

 

Phil’s always said that Dan’s stories were gifts and he wished that Dan would let more people read them, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Dan liked writing for Phil, no matter what genre, liked seeing the smile engulf the older boy’s face whenever he read something Dan wrote, but nobody else gave him that feeling of accomplishment that Phil did. Because of this, he kept the stories for Phil’s eyes only, save for the occasional friend or family member that he was nice enough to share it with, but the stories he writes have always been for Phil’s eyes only.

                Maybe it’s silly to give him something that’s always been his. It just feels write because this story is far for more personal than anything else he’s ever written, and maybe it’s not a traditional story in the sense that little takes place and there is very few dialogue, but it’s not about telling a story—it’s about reconstructing one, putting the pieces back together to paint a different view of the same thing. He can only hope that he’s doing it right.

                They work on the Christmas tree that morning, and Dan drags his feet tiredly and complains, insisting that Phil should do all the work because he’s the one who wants the tree to be put up so early. But Phil knows that Dan’s just messing around, so Dan helps with the finishing touches, even if his mind is still lost in his story.

                “Since when has a story been more important than me?” Phil asks jokingly once they’re finished. Dan’s head is on his lap, and he’s running his fingers soothingly through the brown locks, but Dan’s mind is still elsewhere, thinking of moments similar to this that he can write about.

                “Never,” Dan says, looking up at Phil with wide eyes and a silly smile. “You know I care more about you than a story any day.”

                “Mhm, so you’re going to go to bed tonight and not stay up writing?”

                “I never said that.”

                “I know,” Phil responds. “I’m not mad anyway as long as you go to bed before the sun rises.”

                “You know that’s not going to happen.”

                “A man can try.”

                “A man can wait,” Dan retorts, stifling back a giggle as Phil pretends to be offended.

                It’s these types of moments that deserve a story, so Dan gives them one.

 

That night, Dan goes straight to work on his story and types superfast to catch up with all of his ideas that he came up with during the day. The night before, he had skipped over the sad, focused on the good instead, but he knows he can’t write this story by leaving out key events. His heart aches as he types each word, feels the emotions that he felt in the moments he’s describing, but he moves on and tries to focus on what came out of the angst.

                He writes about 2012—about the loneliness, the hopelessness, the tiredness, and the feeling of knowing you’re wrong about not knowing what to do about it. In fact, he focuses on this particular year more than any of the others because it’s important to the overall development of their relationship after that.

                So even though he cries when he thinks about how it was almost over, he also smiles because one day, he knows he’s going to be Dan Lester and there’s no better feeling than that.

                He wonders what Phil would think if he were to come in here right now and see him. Phil’s watch Dan write sad scenes before—major death ones and breakups and doctors telling someone that they have terminal cancer—and he’s never once cried. Maybe he didn’t cry because it didn’t feel personal. He couldn’t relate to Amy’s mom dying because he still has his mom, and even though he’s gone through bad breakups, they were always a “long time coming” and “for the best.” He’s never had to listen to the doctor tell him that he only has so long to live, so he can write about it with a straight-face and not feel the heartbreak. However, this time is different. He’s felt these feelings before, experienced them once and thought that he would experience them forever.

                He decides to write 2012 in a way that makes it feel a little bit more like a fictional story even though it’s completely different than how he’s writing the rest of it because unlike with all of the other memories, this is the only one can’t explain in two short paragraphs.

                He takes sips from his coffee every so often when his eyes start to drop. His eyes never leave the glow of his computer screen even when he feels like taking a quick nap, and halfway through writing about that dreaded year, he slows down and starts typing slower, pausing more often, because he just doesn’t know what to write anyway and he can no longer remember if he’s wrote about everything important or not.

                He falls asleep at his computer desk shortly after the sun comes up.

 

Even though the story isn’t all that long, it takes him forever, even with him writing every night as fast as he can. It’s easy to manipulate someone else’s life, especially when they’re just a figment of his imagination—someone whose sole existence is based upon one major event, someone whose life is only on pages in black and white—but when it’s no longer considered manipulating, it’s as if his mind freezes, stops wanting to write (because “somethings just don’t belong on paper,” as Phil once said when he told him an idea of his that would translate well on a screen but not in writing).

                Even though his idea is simple enough, it’s quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever written. He tells Phil he loves him on a daily basis whenever he feels like it, and if spoken words aren’t enough, they’ve been together for over six years, so there’s no doubt in his mind that Phil knows that he means a lot to Dan. However, the story is more than that. It’s a promise of forever in a world where everything is uncertain, it’s a promise that they can get through anything in world where roadblocks are everywhere, and it’s a promise that they have a history that can’t be thrown away in a world where history means nothing anymore.

                Dan’s written thousands upon thousands of words in just a day, and he’s finished a novella in just a week. (Maybe he should start focusing more on his videos because he totally could upload weekly if he wasn’t typing away at his computer all of the time. Of course, he mainly writes during the night, but on the days when he’s so inspired, he writes from morning to midnight, only pausing to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom.) But he’s never taken this long to write just a thousand words, and he doesn’t even have to think about characterization and dialogue and where or not the character would actually say or do that, so in theory, it should be easier. After all, the story already exists outside of his mind.

                It’s not Dan’s story this time. It’s his and Phil’s; it’s reality, but that’s what makes it so hard to write. Dan’s read a lot of nonfiction stories, memoirs and biographies and autobiographies. Whatever they are, they make writing reality seem so easy, no matter the memories that they’re writing about, but the more he writes of his, the more he realizes that all stories seem easy to write when all the words are already written, but they were probably the product of staring at a computer screen for hours on end before they finally formed. Even then, they were probably edited a few times over before they were allowed to see the light of day.

                He usually doesn’t compare himself to other writers because he finds it pointless and a waste of time. Why feel bad about himself for not writing as good as someone when he could spend that time improving his own writing so that he can be better? But now he can’t stop because so many authors have written beautiful memoirs and he can’t even write a short one.

                He’s always thought that he’s a pretty good writer when he really puts his mind to it, and Phil’s always agreed with him, encouraging him to send one of them to a publisher. The only thing that keeps him from doing that is he knows how the viewers will react. Sure, everyone will be happy for him, but at least a good chunk of them will think that he’s doing it to make more money because he knows that anything with his name on it will sell. He can see that because even though he’s happy when one of his friends announces a book, he’s mad that the integrity of publishing a book is almost nonexistent. But at the same time, some of the YouTubers have always wanted to write a book or other ones may not have always wanted to, but now that they’re who they are, they want something a little more concrete. However, the line has become so blurred and he doesn’t want to publish a book because he’s Dan Howell; he wants to publish a book because he’s an Amazing Writer.

                Either way, he’s starting to think that maybe a short story wasn’t the best gift idea.

                After a week of midnight writing sessions, he decides that maybe he should pick up a backup gift just in case. It wouldn’t hurt and he wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing Phil by having nothing to give him on Christmas day. It’s noon when he finally leaves.

                “I’m going out,” he tells Phil as he puts on his coat. “Is there anything you need?”

                “Where are you going?” Phil asks, coming up to stand behind Dan. “I can just go with.”

                “I’m just going to get a few groceries,” Dan says. He slips on his shoes and then shrugs his shoulders. “It won’t take too long, so it wouldn’t make any sense for you to come with.”

                “Okay, just don’t be out too late. I have a few movies I want to watch.” Phil gives him a quick kiss on the lips before he leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.

                The shops are packed when he gets there, and he silently curses the holiday seasons because stores that normally only have a few costumers at a time are packed to the point that he has to worm his way through. But it doesn’t matter because after thirty minutes of shopping, he still has no idea what to get Phil, so he calls up Louise.

                Louise is probably one of his closest YouTuber friends. Obviously, that spot used to belong to PJ and Chris equally, but that friendship broke off and it’s only just repairing itself. Louise is always there for them when they need her and she’s full of great ideas, too.

                “What would be a great gift for me to get Phil?” he asks. “I had an idea, but it didn’t work out, so I’ve spend the last half hour walking around and I still can’t think of a single thing to get him.”

                “Write him a story. He’s always going on and on about how great of a gift your stories would make,” she says.

                “That’s what I was going to do, but I just . . . It didn’t work out. Plus, I let him read my stories all the time, and a story doesn’t cost me any money.”

                “He won’t care. As long as you put some thought into it, that’s what matters.”

                “Okay, I will.”

                He doesn’t end up buying anything because after talking to Louise every possible gift idea just sounds unsentimental compared to the story that’s currently on his computer.

 

He finishes the story on Christmas Eve at eleven o’clock at night, just an hour away from Christmas. It’s not perfect by any means and it’s unedited, but it’s raw and real and full of emotion that he hopes will tell Phil just how he feels because _I love you_ isn’t enough.

                Phil’s still awake because he always has a hard time falling asleep on Christmas Eve for some reason. (Whenever Dan asks, he just says that there is something about it the energy and excitement that everyone around the globe who celebrates Christmas feels at the same time that makes it hard to sleep, but Dan’s never fully understood that.) Either way, this means that they get to sleep in Dan’s bed for the first time in a while.

                “Goodnight,” Dan says before placing a quick kiss on Phil’s lips, but he doesn’t go asleep, just snuggles back into Phil’s arms.

                He only gets a few hours of sleep because he’s up most of the night thinking about how Phil will react to the story and it’s so stupid but he can’t stop. But he’s only been asleep for a little more than three hours when Phil wakes him up with lazy kisses.

                “Merry Christmas,” he says and then: “I love you.”

                Phil hums in response, nuzzling his nose against Dan’s neck before responding, whispering _Merry Christmas_ and _I love you, too_ back.

                “Now let’s go open presents.”

                There’s a rule between them that they’re not allowed to spend so much money on each other, and they always only get one gift, so it’s never anything extremely exciting, but still, Phil acts like seeing whatever Dan got him is the most interesting thing in the world. His eyes light up and he smiles his award-winning, signature Phil Lester smile, the one that lights up the whole room, before he climbs out of bed, dragging Dan along with him.

                “Who’s going to open their gift first?” Dan asks, secretly hoping that Phil will say he can go first because Dan wants Phil to wait for his story.

                “You can.”

                Dan bends down and picks up the small box that’s wrapped in wrapping paper that’s covered in cartoon images of Santa Claus. It doesn’t seem like much until Dan unwraps it, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Phil get down on one knee (and if one thing is for sure, Phil’s definitely gone over the maximum amount they’re allowed to spend on each other, but he’s not going to complain right now).

                “Dan, we’ve been together for over six years, and I cannot image spending my life with anyone else. Will you marry me?” Phil pops the question just as Dan opens the black box to reveal a ring with a thick silver band and a square-cut diamond in the center.

                “Yes!” Dan shouts and tears build up in his eyes. Phil grabs the ring from the box and slips it on Dan’s finger. “God, this makes my gift for you seem so lame and cheap.”

                But even when Dan tries to keep Phil from unwrapping the box with his name on it, he’s unsuccessful.

                “What’s this?” Phil asks, staring at the paper. “Is this one of your stories?”

                “Yeah . . . it’s stupid, but I couldn’t think of anything to give you so I thought I’d write you a story. It’s not even that good—”

                “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

                Written in black and white is the story of their lives together so far and it reads:

It’s not like you to Let Emotions Get the Best of Things (But You Do)

 _The butterflies are rioting when you get off the bus at Piccadilly Station in Manchester._ You’ve had so long to prepare for this moment, but there’s no proper way to go about it because, in many ways, you’re meeting your idol, for lack of a better word, today. But you’re also meeting your best friend and somebody who you can very well see as your boyfriend one day, so the butterflies in your stomach are more than justified.

                It’s crowded, but you never expected anything less. Though, the situation doesn’t make the butterflies any calmer and vomit rises in your throat, your palms sweaty and shaking. You’re used to being the epitome of cool, calm, and collected, someone who isn’t bothered by meeting someone new or meeting someone old for the first time.

                When you don’t immediately see him, you’re worried for a second that he isn’t going to show. Your parents would be right, and you’d have to catch an earlier train back home. You’d walk with your head down, ashamed and disappointed, into your house and try to forget about it, but you’d never be able to do so. The thought doesn’t even fully form before you see him—and well, it’s not hard to because he’s so tall.

                Your feet carry you across the station, pushing past people without a second thought. He’s here and real and so unbelievably beautiful. His eyes look even more amazing up close, but you only see them briefly before he’s pulling you into his arms and you’re doing the same, until you guys are hugging so tight with no end in sight.

                You don’t pull back, but you whisper, “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” into his neck.

                The rest of the day is a blur because your head is in the clouds and the butterflies are still fluttering in your stomach, but they’ve calmed down because you’re just so in love and you don’t think he’ll ever be able to truly understand that. 

                Nobody asks anybody, but over time, you slowly fade into realization that you guys are boyfriends whether or not the question has been popped. And you know he realizes it, too, because suddenly, you guys are a lot more comfortable with each other and you’ll sit as close as possible and no one will object.

                Everybody sees it—the viewers, your family, your friends. It’s as clear as day to everybody else but you for the longest time, and you deny it at first, but eventually, you can’t even deny it yourself. The way he looks at you and the way you look at him speak volumes that words cannot, and no one is trying to hide it.

                You make videos with him and spend more time looking at him than the camera, and when you’re not together, you think about being together and your friends back home start to beg for you to introduce them to your boyfriend, but you like keeping him all to yourself for some reason.

 

You’ll never get used to the feeling of his hand in yours, and he never pulls away, even when your hands are sweaty and you can’t stop fidgeting. Your hands fit together like pieces to a puzzle, like they were always meant to be as cheesy as it sounds, and suddenly, you start thinking of your life in terms of after and before him. It’s no wonder your mother approves now when she originally did not; not only have you made him happier, he’s made you smile more often than you ever thought possible.

                You used to think you liked being the big spoon most, but with him, there’s nothing more comforting than his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his chest. Warmth radiates from his body, and all you can focus on is the feeling of him touching you all over in the most innocent way.

                You’re in love, and for the first time, it’s a happy love, unlike your previous relationships, and you don’t have to hear him say the words to know that it’s requited.

 

The words slip out of your mouth when you guys are cuddling on the couch. At first you’re worried you’ve ruined everything, which makes no sense because you live with him and you’ve known for so long that his feelings for you have been more than just like. But the butterflies return full force, and you freeze for a second, waiting for him to push you away or do something that will crush your heart into a million pieces. It never comes.

                “I love you, too,” he says and pulls you in tighter as if he never wants to let go. It’s as if you’ve both been waiting for the other to say it, and he sounds so much lighter when he whispers it into your ear for the millionth time.

                For the next few weeks, you never stop staying it because you love to hear those words, and when you’re not hearing them, you’re thinking about them. He catches on and gives you soft kisses every time you say it before repeating it with a warm smile on his face that makes the butterflies return for a completely different reason.

                _“I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

                You’re going to miss these days before you know it.

 

Life is good for a year. You guys are so hopelessly in love and so young that you’re reckless about it. You kiss in public and don’t think about anybody seeing, and you’d be damned if you kept your eyes off of him for more than a second at a time because he’s just so goddamned beautiful to look at. You’d have to be stupid to deny yourself the sight, so you don’t.

                And he stares right back with the same intensity in his gaze that you feel light like a feather, like you could just float away. He doesn’t stop staring either, and you spend a year of your life with your eyes glued to him, and he does the same.

                But still, you don’t miss a thing because the only thing to see right now is him, him, him, and you’re falling too quickly and relying on someone else to catch you. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you don’t even care anymore (because he’s yours and nobody else’s and it sounds so right that you can’t imagine a life where it’s wrong).

                Everybody sees it—your family, your friends, your viewers—just like back in 2009.

 

The year 2012 is full of fighting and shouting matches that make the neighbors knock on your door loudly, demanding you guys “shut the fuck up” because “some people are trying to get some sleep.” It’s too much for you to handle.

                “God, Dan, you’re being such a fucking baby!” he shouts, his face tense, and if you weren’t so pissed, you’d cower away in fear because he never cusses and when he does, he almost never says fuck. “Grow up!”

                “Says the one who acts like a fucking two-year old!” You regret it the minute it slips past your lips, but you don’t let your expression falter. Instead, you act like the anger is only growing by the second when it’s actually quite the opposite.

                You think it’s over and 2011 couldn’t feel farther away.

                You’re head over heels in love with him, but you’re too scared to shout it from the roof tops, to let everyone know. This time, the butterflies are rioting for a _completely_ different reason. It’s your entire fault completely, and you’re a baby just like he says, such a _fucking_ baby for being quick to fall in love but too scared to say it to a crowd of people who wouldn’t even care.

                Everybody knows you guys are in love, but it’s become your whole identity, your whole YouTube career. And maybe if you could have sat just an inch further away and kept your eyes off of him for just a split second longer, it wouldn’t be like this, but you don’t have a time machine and you can’t change the past. So you shut down, block out everybody and yell when it becomes too much, keeping your true feelings to yourself.

                You guys barely kiss, never touch when a camera is on, and stop saying _I love you_ until you feel dizzy. You’ve forgotten what his hand feels like and you sleep in separate beds. You’re stopped trying to hold on to your relationship, watching as it goes down the drain right before your eyes.

                This is going to be your life for close to a year—closed doors, broken hearts, uncertainty, fighting matches in the kitchen when you go to get breakfast and he still wants to eat yours—so you lash out and attack your viewers, swear to them that you and him will never be a “thing” because you’re not gay (and you’re not, but you say it like you’re saying that you’re straight, which you’re also not).

                You’re not happy, he’s not, and all of your friends and families look at you with pity because they’ve noticed the hesitance in your steps that wasn’t present before.

 

When your parents come to visit shortly after you move into your London flat with him, they tiptoe around the subject of you, but subtly hint at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into (and you can hear the question on the tip of their tongue even though they don’t ask—why would you move together when you’re in the position you’re in).

                “So, how are you liking London so far?” your mom asks. The question is directed at both of you—you can tell by the way her eyes are darting back and forth—but he doesn’t respond.

                “It’s nice,” you respond. “We don’t have much stuff yet and it’s way different living here than Manchester, but it’s nice.”

                He’s quiet throughout the whole visit, and you send daggers his way every time you look at him. Sure, you’re parents already know you guys are in a rough place, but does he really have to make them so uncomfortable?

                “Hopefully, we’ll have a show on Radio One soon to make the trip worth it,” you say, but at this point, you don’t think that anything will make this pain worth it.

                Every day, it’s as if you’re heart grows a little colder, and it freezes into stone, breakable but hard to penetrate. Maybe that’s what you need: a little less love and a little more solitude. But it doesn’t matter what you need because you stay with him just like he stays with you, and at this point, you’re not sure if either of you really know why. The simple answer would be love, but the roots of love only go so deep before they stop, so it’s harder than that. Maybe you’re roots are just so twisted and intertwined with his that you can’t leave without destroying each other, but maybe you’ve just grown used to the hostile air that it’s normal and not that important.

                “I hope everything works out for the two of you,” your mother says. It may seem like she’s saying this in terms of your new flat, but you know better than that. She’s telling you that she wants you guys to make this relationship work no matter what, so you decide to listen and at the right time, too.

 

A day later, he comes up to you, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening his mouth. “I think we should break up.”

                Your heart breaks even though it’s been a long time coming. Your relationship may have been falling apart, but you guys have been living in this limbo for so long that you never considered he would try to get out of it by breaking up. It was always assumed that you guys would work it out so how, someway, even if it didn’t always seem that likely.

                Words fail you, and you stand there in silence for minutes. It doesn’t drag on so long that it feels like an eternity, but the minutes tick by slowly.

                “But . . .” you say, but you never finish that sentence because it had no direction. It started and stopped at but, and there is nothing else to say. “I love you.”

                “I’m not sure you do anymore,” he says calmly, but you start to wonder if he’s just pretending because he stares up at the ceiling like he always does right before he’s about to cry. “And I can’t keep waiting for you to figure everything out anymore.”

                “I have everything figured out, and I want you because I love you so much.”

 

Slowly, you start working things out between the two of you. It’s hesitant kisses and sweaty hands all over again. But it works. You no longer sit a foot apart in videos, and you don’t try to stop yourself from staring at him constantly, even when the camera is rolling. You say I love you every day, and the year after 2012 is a good year and everybody can see it.

                But it’s about finding each other again and building up from the bottom because what you guys had previously was totally destroyed. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

The year 2014 is busy, but the next year is even busier. Somehow, you guys only grow closer and nobody cares when the viewers write stories about you guys and ship you together. In fact, you guys just encourage them and, in the privacy of your own home, laugh at them for all of the silly theories that don’t come close to the truth, but you don’t mind.

                Some people see the love in your eyes, but some people don’t. That’s okay. Your whole YouTuber career isn’t based on whether or not you’re having sex with him, but at the same time, your whole YouTube career has become intertwined with his to the point where even if you aren’t in a video of his, you’re still somehow incorporated in it or vice versa.

                This year is the year you publish a book and even though it’s not the typical type of book that YouTubers write, you love it. It’s about your life with him and it’s about you and it’s about him and it’s about relationships—platonic and romantic. It’s about making a permanent mark on the world, something you never thought you’d do.

                This is the year that you go to Japan, something you’ve always wanted to do, and of course, you go with him.

                This is the year you make the Seven Second Challenge app and take back something of his that everybody—even fellow YouTubers—stole.

                This is the year that you guys are more than just two people who make YouTube videos. This is the year that you make something bigger of yourself and make yourself a more permanent figure, not something that can float away on the wind.

                Most importantly, more important than every other accomplishment that you’ve made thus far, this is the year that you let loose. Nothing can hold you back anymore, and he’s the reason you are where you are, and no number of whispered _I love yous_ will over fully reveal just how much you love him. Because you do—you love him so much and you just hope he knows that even if he can’t comprehend just how much.


End file.
